Away From Here
by willowitaway
Summary: FORMERLY BOMILYCROYERS. I'm reposting, and hopefully finishing the darn thing... A young Harry Potter is taken away from the Dursley's by someone who has known him since he was born, long before that first letter arrives. Abuse.
1. Chapter One

There was ragged breathing coming from the cupboard under the stairs. Petunia Dursley knelt outside the cupboard, furiously scrubbing blood off of the hard-wood floor. She kept glancing nervously at the small door. The source of the labored breathing was Petunia's nephew, Harry Potter. Lately, Petunia's husband, Vernon, had taken to beating Harry whenever he got drunk. She brushed a tear out of her eye as she recalled the sight she had walked in on just hours before.

Petunia had left the house around noon to go grocery shopping. Normally, she would have taken Harry and her son, Dudley, but Dudley had gone to the Polkeis' house for a play date with their son, Piers. She was telling Harry to get his coat when Vernon called out to just leave the boy at home. Petunia looked at Vernon suspiciously. He was acting out of character, but he didn't seem drunk. His speech wasn't slurred and his eyes weren't bloodshot. Petunia nodded and went out the door, leaving Harry behind. She secretly relished the thought of a relaxing trip to the market without two toddlers.

When Petunia had walked through the door later that day, the first thing she saw was a shattered vase in the front hall. She sighed in exasperation, assuming Vernon had knocked it over and hadn't bothered to clean it up. Then she heard a yelp of pain and saw her bruised nephew run into the hallway, his green eyes wide with terror. Vernon was close behind him. He pushed Harry to the ground. Vernon turned the boy over on to his back; Harry's nose was bleeding heavily from when it had slammed into the floor. He looked up at Vernon through blackened eyes and cringed at the drunken fury he saw emanating from his uncle. Vernon wailed on the boy until Harry slipped into unconsciousness. Vernon stepped back and took in the damage he had done to his nephew. He smirked in satisfaction, noting the broken arm, the many bruises that riddled the small body, and the still bleeding nose. Vernon roughly picked up the boy and chucked him into the cupboard. Harry's body made a sickening crunch as it hit the opposite wall and tumbled to the floor. Vernon slammed the door and turned to see Petunia at the door, staring in horror at what she had just witnessed. He barked at her to make him dinner and then clean the mess up.

Later that night, after Dudley had come home and Vernon was asleep, Petunia slid quietly out of bed and crept down the stairs. She went to Harry's cupboard and noiselessly opened the door. Petunia gagged when she saw Harry's crumpled body. Her eyes travelled up to Harry's face and she gasped when she saw Harry looking at her pleadingly. Petunia stroke Harry's hair and mouthed, "I'm sorry," over and over again with tears streaming down her cheeks.

It was then Petunia made a decision. No matter what Dumbledore had said, Harry could not remain at the Dursley house. According to Dumbledore, because she and Harry were blood-relatives through Harry's mother, he was safe from the men who had been responsible for her sister's murder. But who would keep him safe from Vernon? Petunia picked up Harry and carried him over to the bathroom. She filled the tub with warm water, undressed him, and set the small boy into the bath. The water was tinged pink with Harry's blood. Petunia cried as she gently cleaned Harry, careful not to hurt him more than he already was.

After the bath, Petunia got one of Dudley's new T-shirts and pulled it over Harry's thin frame. The shirt, which was a little snug on Dudley, fit Harry like an over-large nightgown. Petunia noticed that Harry was shivering. She felt his forehead and realized Harry had a fever. Petunia grabbed a blanket from the living room and carefully wrapped Harry in it. She took Vernon's car keys from the hook in the kitchen and quietly left the house.

A large, black dog had been watching the house all day. He saw a car pull up in the drive way and a woman get out with a small boy; both had faces like rats. They rang the door bell and a familiar bony, long-necked, pale-eyed woman answered. She smiled stiffly, as if she was unused to the gesture and called for someone named Dudley. An immensely porky boy with blonde hair waddled into view. The dog assumed this was Dudley. The boy greatly resembled a pig. He was holding a half eaten chocolate bar and chocolate was smeared on his hands and face. When he saw the rat-like boy he squealed happily and dropped the candy. His mother leaned down and the piggish-looking boy planted a chocolaty kiss on her cheek. He and the rat-faced pair left in the car.

A while later, the dog saw the woman—Petunia was her name, he recalled—leave the house. She got in the car and pulled away. The dog would have made his move then, but the fat, walrus muggle was still inside the house. It seemed the dog would have to wait until the muggles went to sleep. The dog decided to take a nap until that time. Just as he was drifting off, the dog's sensitive ears heard a crash, like glass breaking, from inside the house, followed by a child's scream. The dog jumped to his feet and growled menacingly. He heard the child cry out in pain again. The dog knew the only child in the house was Harry. He paced back and forth. The dog did not want to make his presence known to the muggles. No doubt they would call the police, and then the ministry would be informed of a disturbance near the Potter boy. They would investigate and learn of his escape earlier than he wanted. But there was no way the dog could stand idly by and listen to his Godson being beaten mercilessly.

Just as the dog was about to run into the house and rescue Harry, Petunia arrived home, her arms laden with groceries. She walked in the door and froze, her bags falling to the floor. She stayed that way for a few minutes then, flinching visibly, she closed the door behind her. The dog noticed Harry's cries had ceased and he was worried for his Godson. However, with the house full, he knew it would be almost impossible to fetch the boy out. The dog wondered how long the abuse had been going on and in what state he would find the boy.

He waited for about an hour after the lights in the house had been put out before he crept out of his hiding place. He slunk towards the house quietly and was just about to enter when the hall light switched on. The dog dove into the bushes and poked his head up to peer into the window. He saw Petunia kneeling in front of the open cupboard door. She remained there for a while and then pulled back out with something in her arms. With an unpleasant lurch he realized Petunia was carrying his Godson's battered body. She walked over to the bathroom and placed Harry in the tub, carefully washing his blood-soaked body.

The dog growled in anger for his Godson. Petunia dressed Harry in a shirt meant for a much larger boy. The dog ducked down into the bushes as Petunia walked towards the door. She was still carrying Harry. She put him into the car and drove away. The dog bounded after her quickly so as not to lose her.


	2. Chapter Two

Petunia arrived at the hospital. She wasn't sure how to go about this. There were certain details about Harry the doctors needed to know—such as his age—but she didn't want to deal with the questions about his condition. Although she cared for the boy, she was nervous about chancing anybody connecting her with Harry's…oddity. She decided to take a page out of Dumbledore's book. She took up a pen and a piece of paper and began to write.

Harry was sleeping restlessly by the time they had gotten to the hospital. Petunia finished the note and got out of the car. She looked around the deserted parking lot to see if anybody was watching. She carefully took Harry out of the backseat of the car and rearranged his blanket. Petunia winced at Harry's whimper of pain. She hushed him with soothing noises and words and placed him on a bench, out of the direct line of sight from the receptionist's desk.

She knelt down beside him and tried to make him as comfortable as possible. Tears fell from her eyes as she pushed Harry's bangs out of his face, revealing his lightning bolt scar above his right eyebrow. Something was nagging at her. She knew exactly what the feeling was: guilt. She had felt its constant presence in her heart from the day she found Harry on her doorstep two years before. It was as if Lily was watching her. She agonized at the extreme amount of shame her sister could instill in her, even from the grave. This time, however, something was different. Petunia recognized something else along with the disapproval from Lily. She felt gratitude. It sounded impossible, but she knew, somewhere, Lily was thanking Petunia for finally doing something right in regards to Harry. She could live with the guilt she had known for years; it was her invariable companion. The silent thanks, however, was likely to drive her mad. She didn't deserve it. Not once, in the past two years, had she done anything to stop her husband from taking his anger out on the undersized child. Even now, Petunia knew she was only doing the bare minimum for Harry. She was, in fact, taking away the small protection the boy had. By not living with her, Harry lost the protection of the Blood Wards Dumbledore had explained in his last letter. She whispered, over and over, chant-like, "I'm sorry, Lily, I'm sorry, Harry."

"I wish I could have protected you from him." Harry struggled to sit up. When he did so, he looked at his aunt with an expression no three year-old should possess. It was one of great understanding for what Petunia was trying to do and regret that this was probably the last time they'd see each other. The depth of his perception shook her to the core. But what was more shocking was her nephew's obvious forgiveness. She had done nothing to deserve his compassion; but here it was, freely given. She wished, once again, that she was worthy of this young boy and his love for her. Harry slung his good arm around his aunt's long neck and kissed her, sloppily, on the cheek. Petunia—crying more than ever—kissed his mop of messy, black hair. She carefully laid Harry back down and wrapped the blanket around him. She handed him the note and looked into his eyes—her sister's eyes—for the last time. He was drifting off; exhausted, herself, she couldn't blame him. She whispered, "Good luck, Harry. I…I love you." But he was already asleep.

The dog waited impatiently for the skinny woman to leave Harry's side. He was out of breath from his run. Luckily, the hospital wasn't that far from that damned house on Privet Drive. The dog panted heavily as he watched as Petunia lay his Godson on a bloody park bench! His anger flared yet again, erasing any previous exhaustion. She was a coward! She couldn't face the hospital staff herself, so she was just going to leave Harry there with a note! Though, he observed, distantly, her actions would make it easier for him to retrieve his Godson. Little did he know, Petunia was taking her lead from Dumbledore himself. It was a good thing the dog didn't know his former Headmaster hadn't even had the courage to confront the Dursleys when he left Harry there two years before. The dog was angry enough knowing Dumbledore hadn't once bothered to check on his Godson.

The dog's fury subsided somewhat when he saw Harry kiss his aunt goodbye. At least she had shown the boy some affection, even if she wasn't able to stop that fat husband of hers from beating Harry within an inch of his life. The dog sighed and placed his head on his paws. He just wanted to take Harry and go. He wanted to make sure the little boy he loved, more than life itself, was never hurt again.

The dog sat up excitedly as he watched Petunia drive away from the hospital. He trotted over to Harry and transformed. Sirius Black cautiously knelt down beside the bundle and peeled back a corner of the blanket. He gasped when he saw the bruised face of the toddler and softly combed his fingers through the boy's messy hair. Harry stirred at the touch. He wondered at being woken up again so soon. He assumed it was his aunt who had roused him, for the offending hand—that was now caressing his sore cheek—was gentle. Uncle Vernon was never that gentle. Harry blinked and opened his eyes. Things were blurry, like always; but if he squinted really hard, things were a little easier to see. He expected to wake up in his cupboard, the drive to the hospital and the note just a dream. Harry looked in confusion at the out of focus figure. As his eyes strained to adjust, he realized a man was the one who had woken him. Though he bore no resemblance to his uncle, Harry flinched away from the touch, violently. He stared up at the Sirius with fear showing in his emerald eyes. Sirius took Petunia's note from the boy. Anger flared in his piercing, blue eyes as he read.

This boy's name is Harry Potter. He is three years old. My husband and I have been his guardians for the past two years. I didn't know how else to do this. Tell Harry that his aunt loves him and that she is sorry. Please find him a good home.

Harry's eyes widened as he shrank back in terror at the undisguised fury clearly emanating from this unfamiliar man. He knew what was coming. He was going to die this time. He didn't care anymore; he just wanted the pain to stop. Harry sighed in defeat and closed his eyes again. He just hoped the strange man would be quick about it, that way he could rest. He could be with his mum and dad. He wouldn't hurt anymore. Why couldn't Uncle Vernon have just killed me? Harry thought.

He should've just died, earlier, in the cupboard, before his aunt had woken him. That way, he couldn't be beaten anymore. He could go to heaven and see his parents again. No, Harry didn't believe he would go to heaven. He was a bad boy, and bad boys were punished. That's what Uncle Vernon said. He would go to hell. That didn't matter now, however. Anything to escape the pain he was in. Being with Uncle Vernon was probably worse than hell anyway. Anything would be better than the constant pain and fear that he was doing something wrong, but never knowing until after he did it. Yes, he would gladly go to hell. He was a little sad he wouldn't see his parents, but it was better to get away from his uncle's wrath. He wished the man would just hurry up and kill him, already. Why did he have to drag it out? He was ready.

Harry carefully opened one eye to see what the man was waiting for. He saw tears running openly down the man's face. Though he was still wary of the man, the tears sparked Harry's curiosity. He had only ever seen his aunt and Dudley cry, and the latter only when he fell down or didn't get his way. He had never seen a grown man cry before. Was he hurt? He wondered what had made the man cry. Then the man raised his hand. Harry flinched at the movement and clamped his eyes shut again. His arms flew up to protect his face from the blow he was sure was coming now. How had he forgotten the first rule? He was never supposed to look people in the face. Harry's entire body trembled in fear.

Sirius reached out further still; he gently pulled Harry's arms away from his face and softly stroked his cheek. The boy was shaking horribly. He couldn't believe the amount of abuse his Godson had gone through. He put on what he thought was a reassuring smile. Sirius silently cursed the muggle that had changed the happy baby he once knew into a scrawny, frightened, shadow of a child. Harry's eyes, so much like Lily's, no longer held the sparkle he recalled from his memories of the child. They looked dead. Harry had given up hope.

Sirius realized he was still out in the open with Harry. He looked around quickly and grabbed up his Godson. He needed to get to a properly secluded area quickly. This was made difficult by the toddler in his arms who was struggling in pure panic in his gentle grasp. Sirius kept walking until he reached a nearby park. He sat down on a bench with Harry still in his grasp. The boy had stopped struggling; he seemed resigned to whatever the unknown man had in mind for him. Harry was shaking in fear.

Sirius remembered the rest of the injuries the boy had and quickly opened the blanket to examine the extent of the damage. He lit his wand and gasped at what he saw. Thanks to Petunia's bath, the blood was gone. However, it was still evident Harry was badly injured. The light from his wand threw the many bruises into sharp relief. Fortunately, Sirius knew how to perform simply healing charms. He quickly healed Harry's cuts and most of his bruises. However, Sirius wasn't confident enough in his healing abilities to even touch the arm. He felt nauseous at the sight of it, clearly broken, bent at an unnatural angle. It was a wonder the boy wasn't screaming in pain. Sirius had no idea how to treat the injury. He needed someone who had knowledge of just about every subject there was; someone who had spent time in the library, reading up on things that most didn't think about. He needed Remus.

Oh, yes, Padfoot. Brilliant! Just pop on over to your old friend's house, "Moony, old pal! Long time no see! Listen, mate, I stole Harry from the hospital and he's hurt. Want to come over and help me heal him? How did I get here, you say? Oh, no big thing. I just transformed into Padfoot to escape the dementors. Yes, I swam here from Azkaban." Ha! You'd be bloody lucky if he even let you say one word before cursing your arse into next year!

Sirius sighed; He missed his friend. Things definitely would be a lot easier with Remus around. Sirius was never that great at planning, even in school. Before Remus, he and James' idea of a good prank was putting a rubber rat in someone's food. Remus was the one who found out the charm to make the rat jump out of the food into the victim's face. Yes, Remus—the goody-two-shoes, the bookworm, the prefect—was the mastermind behind the Marauders greatest pranks. He and James were more like the figureheads, getting the glory and accepting the punishment when they were caught. Remus managed to stay in the background, somewhat, and never got near as many detentions as the other two.

Sirius had decided to take Harry without even thinking about what he would do after he got the boy. He could almost see Remus shaking his head at him for his lack of planning. Sirius smiled, slightly, at the thought. It was a pity that now Remus would like nothing more than to see Sirius rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life.

Sirius contemplated his situation carefully. It was lucky for him his spare wand had been well-hidden at his old flat, or else he wouldn't stand a chance. He knew for a fact his own wand was under heavy guard spells in the ministry. He looked at Harry's broken leg and his anger flared once again. He was going to kill Dursley! He looked over towards the hospital that he had just left and decided against going back there. It was too close to the Dursley's place. The ministry was going to find out about his and Harry's disappearances, and, unless they were incredibly thick, they would connect the two. In a couple of hours at the most, the ministry would assume that mass-murderer, Sirius Black, had kidnapped the Boy-Who-Lived, savior of the wizarding world, and , well, they wouldn't be that far off the mark this time. He needed to get as far away as possible from Little Whinging.

Sirius looked down at himself and decided the first thing he needed to do was to make himself presentable. No sane person was going to want to talk to or help a man who looked like an escaped convict, never mind Sirius was exactly that.

He conjured a mirror and looked at his reflection. His expression was one of disgust. He had dark circles under his blue eyes, and he had an unhealthy, sunken look about him. His scraggly, matted beard was infested with fleas and lice. His hair, his pride and joy, was too long for even his liking, and it was filthy. His original hair color, a glossy black, was indistinguishable beneath all the grime. The beard had to go. Using his wand, Sirius got rid of the horrible facial hair. He then proceeded to clean his hair and cut it to shoulder length. Sirius looked down at his prison clothes and transfigured them into jeans and a t-shirt. He surveyed himself in the mirror and smiled. He looked almost back to normal.

By the time he was through transforming his appearance, Harry was asleep. However, Sirius cast a quick charm on him to keep him that way. He didn't want Harry waking up and panicking again. He would only hurt himself more. Sirius decided to apparate to a different hospital a couple hundred miles away. He wished there was a better way to get there quickly, because apparition was quite uncomfortable under the best of circumstances. He didn't want to know what it would feel like when you had a broken leg. Yes, he was happy Harry was asleep.

**So I realize that this chapter and the last only have some minor changes to them. And I realize it's been four years. And I realize I'm a terrible human being. I'm really sorry. But the third chapter should be posted tonight. Please don't hate me. It's been a rough four years. I love you all who still review, and follow, and favorite this story. Please find it in your heart to forgive me. Thank you. You are wonderful.**


	3. Chapter Three

At times like these, Sirius was both resentful and grateful for his upbringing. He knew, far too well, just how much you could get done with a simple hooded cloak and the right amount of money. After getting Harry's injuries taken care of from an admittably less than reputable healer in the in a run down shack that apparantly was good for healing injuries, no questions asked, Sirius and Harry found themselves in London.

8... 9... 10... 11... 13. They were here. As his father's only remaining son, though he had been disowned by his mother, the title of secret keeper fell to him. Sirius watched, his face emotionless, as Number 12, Grimmauld Place slid into its proper place. His childhood home, that had once held fond memories, until his first year at Hogwarts.

Sirius, being a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, assumed, along with everybody else, that he would be in Slytherin with his cousins, Bella and Cissy. His mother, as a rule, was not a publicly affectionate person, yet she had cried at the platform as she kissed him godbye (much to his mortification). His father clapped him on the shoulder and told Sirius to make the family proud, and his little brother, Regulus, tried, to no avail, hide the tears in his eyes as Sirius boarded the train.

Being sorted into Gryffindor had not been a part of the plan, and it had changed everything. Daily howlers from either his mother or his aunts arrived those first few weeks. What came after though, the silence, the returned, unopened letters to Regulus, was much, much worse. Only James Potter had stuck by him during all that time. When he returned that summer, he almost wished his parents had screamed at him, hit him, had beaten him. At least that would have been them acknowledging his existence. Only Regulus seemed to notice him, and only then to set that blasted house elf, Kreacher, on him.

Sirius began acting out at home, and later at Hogwarts, just to get some sort of attention. Not wanting him to be alone, James often joined Sirius in his trouble making. He finally got out of the house the summer of their sixth year. James had pleaded Sirius' case to his parents, and the Potter's took the emotionally starved boy into their home with open arms. Sirius had never looked back.

And now here he was. Back at the place he swore he would never return to. Sighing, Sirius readjusted little Harry on his hip. The boy looked strange and unrecognizable with the curly blonde hair and unremarkable brown eyes that the temporary glamour gave him. The boy sat stiffly in his arms, not making a sound as they watched Number 12 appear before them.

Harry had not said a word in those three weeks that Sirius and he had been together. They had been moving constantly in order to evade anyone who might be looking for Sirius. Harry had not been reported missing, making Sirius wonder if anyone had ever been sent to check on the boy's well-being. Just the thought of Harry's relatives made Sirius seethe with fury. Unfortunately, the obvious anger of his guardian caused Harry to tense up even more in his Godfather's arms and cower in on himself.

Sirius forced himself to calm down and tried to send the little boy a reassurring smile. Judging by Harry's reaction, or lack there of, he wasn't entirely sure it was convincing. Giving it up as a lost cause for the moment, Sirius, with Harry in tow, reluctantly made his way toward his childhood home.

Unsure of what they would find, Sirius cautiously opened the door, wincing slightly as the hinges loudly protested the action. They stopped, just inside the threshold, Sirius barely daring to breathe. The door swung loudly shut behind the two. All hell broke loose.

Curtain burst open at the end of the hall, revealing a potrait of his dear, old mum. And she was screaming every obscenity at her long lost son. Sirius stood rooted where he was, momentarily in shock. The sheer volume of his mother's potrait had him half convinced the the neighbors on either side of Number 12 would be calling those... Muggle Aurors... What were they called? Please Men?

Socaught off guard by the shouting, It took Sirius a minute to realize that Harry was no longer in his arms. He looked around and did not immediately see the boy. Over the past few weeks, Sirius had come to know that if Harry did not want to be found, it was very difficult for one to do so.

He decided to rid the house of his mother's furious diatribe before doing anything else. Rather than try a silencing spell, Sirius recalled a blasting hex that his mother had been quite fond of using, usually on the names of... less than acceptable members of the Black family on the Family Tree potrait he knew to be in the next room.

A palpable silence fell over the house, the only noise was Sirius' heavy breathing. He noted, with grim satisfaction, that the only thing remaining of that vile painting of an even more vile woman, was a charred frame. He hoped there were no other unpleasant surprises left from his family, but he wasn't going to count on it. They would just have to be on guard so as not to be caught by surprise by anything nasty. Sirius would be sure to keep Harry in sight at all times.

Bloody hell. Where did Harry get to?

**I know this is a bit short, but hey. It's been four years. I'm a bit rusty... :( **

**I just want to take the time to thank all of you new followers/favoriters/reviewers. You are all beautiful and I love you. I especially want to thank those of you who have been with me for the past four years. I love you all.**

**Let me know what you think and let me know if there is someone you would really like to see in the story. I'll see what I can do... **

**Love always,**

**Bobbie**


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